ment about his ancle's estate, his
mind was upset. What was better
than to finance him to go down to
Honduras and see if he couldn't do as
well as I did with that old mine? May
be he'll strike it rich and come back
with a fortune. Then he can marry
Lutie Grant and he and I go into busi
ness together dear boy!"
"Dear boy and poor boy, indeed!"
replied Miss Keziah, wiping a fugitive
tear from, her eye. "You very well
know that he's just pining his life
away down in that horrid country.
The government has confiscated your
mine and Walter is working for a
mere pittance at odd engineering
jobs. Well, I wrote him last week tell
ing him to come right home, marry
Lucie, make his home with us and
even if he couldn't make a fortune
we'd all be happy, which is the main
thing, after all."
I "You did!" cried John, wonderfully
worked up at this announcement.
"Say, Keziah, that's just famous. Yes,
sir! Let Honduras and the Lane es
tate go to thunder! We can live some
how and we'll have a royal nest of
contentment and comfort, anyhow."
"The Lane estate" has been a great
element in the life of Walter Ross.
An orphan, the old brother and sister
had taken him in when he was quite
young. A bright, ingenuous lad, they
had come to love him as if he was of
their own kith and kin, whereas he
was only very distantly related to
them. Then there had come a great
surprise. The old uncle of Walter,
named Jasper Lane, had died. A will
was discovered leaving the big estate
to the neglected heir.
Just while Walter was making joy
ful plans to marry pretty Lutie Grant
and make all his friends rich, a sec
ond will ,was discovered leaving the
estate to his half-cousin, Roche
Marsh. It antedated the Ross will,
but when Walter came to prove the
one under which he inherited one of
the witnesses was dead, the other, a
Robert Troy, could not be found. The
whole estate was tied up in court. 1
Walter tried to find Troy He expend
ed all his spare money advertising for
him, writing to Troy's relatives all
over the country. Then he gave up
the Inheritance in despair.
This was the situation of affairs
that evening when at ten o'clock
John took up Iris cane and with p.
lunch in his pocket set out on hiseus
tomary night ramble. It was a beau
tiful night and the landscape was
varied and lovely. A good deal that
had come to light that day set John
to thinking, so he had little time for
poetry. He wandered aimlessly about,
lulled by the sweet sounds of the
night and finally sat down on a fallen
tree at the, rounding end of the lake,
to enjoy ms lunch, perhaps snooze for
a spell in the radiant moonlight and
then resume his night tramp.
"Hello! Who's that, I wonder?"
abruptly .ejaculated John. .
A manhad appeared on the'ppo
site side of .the lake, coming ftom the
direction of the town. ' Abruptly, as
he passed over a rocky patch of the
beach his foot caught in a loose
.stone. He tumbled forward, his head
struck a rock and there, face down
and submerged in .the water, he lay
"Why, he's in trouble, in danger,"
fairly shouted John-. '
He was. fat and leisurely, was John
Durand, but in a flash he realized the
peril of the stranger. Within a very
few minutes shallow as was the water
he would suffocate. Never had John
run as he ran now. The unusual exer
cise so exhausted him that by the
time he rounded the lake he was
gasping for breath, just managed to
drag the stranger from the water and
then he himself collapsed in a heap.
It was an hour before the stranger
recovered consciousness and John's
first question was:
"Who are you, anyway?"
"My name is Robert Troy," began
the other and John interrupted him
with a wild cry of delight, in a flash
foreseeing all the future of Walter
Ross and pretty Lutie assured.
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